


Sherlock One-shots

by sammie4282003



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female John Watson, Female Sherlock Holmes, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28705017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammie4282003/pseuds/sammie4282003
Summary: Our favorite crime solving duo, Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. John Watson.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 7





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> I own the plots but not the characters.

A plane taxied to the army hospital hangar. A tall, ginger haired man hurried off the plane, and almost ran into the hospital. Mycroft got stopped by a nurse, “Excuse me sir, who are you?” she asked.

“Mycroft Holmes, I am here to see my brother-in-law, Captain Doctor John H. Watson-Holmes. Of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers,” he stated to the nurse.

“Room 12, Mr. Holmes,” she answered. Mycroft raced towards the room that she had mentioned. He opened the door to see his brother-in-law of four years, laying on the makeshift hospital bed. One of his shoulders was wrapped in a bandage, and he had bandages wrapped around his chest and abdomen. John was asleep, and it looked like he was in pain. A nurse came into the room and saw that the Captain had a visitor.

“Excuse me, but can you tell what happened to him?” Mycroft asked. 

“Captain Watson and company were captured about two months ago, and they were pretty much proclaimed MIA, but about two weeks ago, we got a S.O.S from Captain Watson, we sent in a rescue team, but the commander got shot, and Captain Watson led both companies to safety, but during that, he got shot in the shoulder, and during his incarceration, he kinda got tortured because he was in charge of the troops,” the nurse told Mycroft, as she wiped a tear from her eye. 

Mycroft sat down beside John, and he texted Sherlock.

**I am in Afghanistan right now, with John. He was injured, I will start the medical discharge process. Don't let it distract you from work. -MH**

**WHAT? What happened? How is he? -SH**

**He got shot. I will have him home to you within a week. -MH**

He put his phone away and just sat beside John. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke up to see his husband’s brother. “Mycroft,” he managed to croak out, and Mycroft lifted his head, and when he saw that John was awake, he quickly got up and put a straw to John’s lips. “Is Sherlock alright?” he asked.

“Sherlock is fine, John, but it is you that I am worried about. You got shot, and you had been tortured. You have been medically and honorably discharged. You will be home in a week, but you will probably spend some time in Barts,” Mycroft told him. John just nodded, and Emma wheeled his hospital bed onto a plane, that was clearly Mycroft’s. Sometimes it was a good thing that he was married to the brother of the British Government. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Sherlock was at a crime scene when his phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket. It was a text from his brother. 

**I am in Afghanistan right now, with John. He was injured, I will start the medical discharge process. Don't let it distract you from work. -MH**

**WHAT? What happened? How is he? -SH**

**He got shot. I will have him home to you within a week. -MH**

Lastrade came up to Sherlock, “You alright mate?” he asked the consulting detective. 

“I am fine, but in about a week, I will not be in for a while, someone that I care about greatly has been wounded, and I am a little anxious, I apologise for my unprofessionalism,” he confessed and continued to deduce the dead body and the crime scene. Lastrade noticed that Sherlock was fiddling with a necklace that had a platinum ring on it. It was clearly a man’s wedding ring. The thought of Sherlock being married just barely crossed his mind, before he just assumed it was a family heirloom or something. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week after John woke up, he was in one of Mycroft’s cars, on his way to see his husband at one of his crime scenes. “Anything you need to brief me on about the crime scenes, Mycroft?” he asked his brother-in-law. 

“This is the fourth murder, they all ate the poison themselves, but Sherlock is convinced that it is a serial killer. You are going to your first of Sherlock’s crime scenes, beware that the police that he works with are not very nice,” Mycroft assured him. John just nodded and smirked, he hoped he would be able to punch them. 

They pulled up to the crime scene, and John got out. “Thank you for everything Mycroft, see you for dinner next week,” John grinned, and he walked up to the police tape, his arm in a camo sling. There was a woman at the police tape who he went up to. 

“Are you the medical consultant?” she asked.

“Yes I am, can I see the body?” he asked. She nodded and took him upstairs, to where he saw a woman in pink, and his husband kneeling over the body, with his magnifying glass. 

“Sherlock it has been two minutes, I need anything you got,” the officer told Sherlock. 

“Woman in her late 30’s, professional person by her clothes, something in the media by the freighting shade of pink,” Sherlock sprouted off. John grinned.

“A serial adulteress, judging by her wedding ring, it is dirty, all the rest of the jewelry is clean,” John put in. Sherlock looked up in shock. He looked up, and assessed John from his trainers, to his jeans, to his button up shirt, with the leather jacket, and up to the camo sling. Sherlock stood up very quickly. John braced himself for the hug that he had missed for three years. 

“John!” Sherlock almost shouted, and John wrapped his arm around his husband, who was sobbing into his neck. 

“Hey, I’m alright, it will take awhile for my shoulder to heal, but nothing I can’t handle,” he assured his husband. The officer was gaping at them. 

“Do you want to examine the body?” Sherlock asked John. John smiled, and grabbed Sherlock’s hand to help himself down, and Sherlock after he got down, also kneeled. 

“Asphyxiation, she choked on her own vomit, I agree with Sherlock that it is murder, where is her phone and her suitcase,” John pointed out. Sherlock looked proud of John. 

“How do you know that she had a suitcase?” the officer asked.

“There are speckles on her right calf, that are not present on the left, showing that she pulled a smallish bag behind her with her right hand,” Sherlock deduced.

“Have I ever told you how much I love when you do that?” John asked.

“Yes you have, but please carry on,” Sherlock stated, seemingly with no shame. They walked down the stairs, and out the door. “I am going to go find the case, I will meet you at home?” Sherlock asked. 

“Alright, I will either get a cab, or text MyCroft for a lift. I will see you at home, I love you,” He declared. 

“And I you,” Sherlock answered, and ran off. John watched him go, smiling. The women that let him in looked at him.

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes? He doesn’t have friends, so what are you?” She asked. John just raised an eyebrow at her.

“I am the closest thing he has to a friend. I am his partner, his husband, and his protector. So don’t you dare let me hear you say that he is a ‘freak’ or ‘abnormal’. Sherlock  **Watson** -Holmes is intelligent, brilliant, and the most amazing person I have ever met, and the NSY team should be lucky that he solves your crimes for you. The entire time I was in the army, he would write and complain that everyone but Lestrade was an idiot, and from what I have seen, he is correct, you will be lucky if I don’t launch a formal complaint,” John proclaimed, and he got out his phone.

**Hey Mycroft, could you send a car to my location, Sherlock and his magic cab abilities left to go find evidence? -JW**

**The car will be there in two minutes. -MH**

**Thanks -JW**

A black Lincoln car pulled up, and Emma got out, and opened the other door. John just smiled at the person who was like a sister after all these years. He saw the people from Scotland Yard gaping at John.

“Hello John, Mycroft asked me to ask you if you had your Browning-L9A1 pistol on you?” she asked as the driver started the car. John just nodded and they went to Baker St. where John got out. He walked up to the door and knocked. The door opened and he saw Mrs. Hudson, the person who had been like a mother to Sherlock and himself. 

“John Watson-Holmes, as I live and breathe. My boy, I am so glad that you are home,” she exclaimed.

“And I am so happy to see you!” John answered, and they both went up to the Watson-Holmes flat. John walked in to see his husband sitting on the couch, with the girl that they had adopted before he left sitting with him. John kneeled, and called “Rosie?” the little girl looked up and there was excitement on her face.

“DADDY!” she yelled and pounced on John, who picked her up and spun her around, all while he was pressing many kisses to her face. They had adopted her about two weeks before he was deployed. She was only two then.

“I have missed you so much baby!” John exclaimed, as he sat on the couch, and the small family all hugged each other. “I have missed both of you very much.”

John saw the case, it was vividly pink. “Sherlock, sweetie, is that the victim’s suitcase?” he asked.

“Yes, do you want to examine it? I am going to go put Rosie to bed if you want to come?” he asked his husband.

“Yes on both accounts,” John replied, and they both took Rosie’s hands, and took her upstairs to the room that used to be John’s, that a week before they had adopted Rosie, they had converted into a nursery. 

They tucked her into a pink and black twin size bed. Both of them kissed her forehead, and said goodnight to their baby girl. Then they went downstairs. Both of them dropped onto the couch. “I can’t believe I missed so much of her childhood,” John said sullenly as he examined the case.

“You are still alive, which means that you can learn our routine, and you can be her other Daddy,” Sherlock assured his husband. 

“Sherlock there is an email on her for a me phone account, do you think?” John asked.

“That her password is Rachel?” Sherlock finished the thought. “Oh John, you my love are brilliant. That is exactly what it is. We need to call Scotland Yard,” Sherlock exclaimed, as he pulled out his phone.

**We found the case, and we found a way to track the killer. He has Wilson’s phone, and we can track it online. Come to Baker St. -SH**

He pulled John up from the sofa, and pulled him into his lap and took his neck in his hands and pulled John’s lips onto his lips. It had been three years since he had really gotten to kiss his husband. John’s lips molded against his, and Sherlock slid his tongue along John’s lips. John opened his mouth, but Sherlock was expecting to be the dominant one in the kiss, but John dominated the kiss. Sherlock had to pull away after a while to breathe.

“Damn John, you give me a way better high than cocaine,” Sherlock proclaimed, when John moved to kiss his neck. John found the one spot that made Sherlock moan and scream, and he attacked it with zealous need. 

John was still sucking Sherlock’s neck when the officers barged into the room, just when John got Sherlock to scream. The officers gaped at that. John broke off, and blushed. 

“I can explain,” John said, his hands still deeply planted in Sherlock’s hair. Lestrade gaped.

“Why are you here Inspector?” Sherlock asked.

“It's a drug bust,” Answered the officer.

“Sherlock! You said you were clean!” John almost yelled.

“I have been since you and I started dating, John.” Sherlock responded. The officers left to give them a bit of a couples time.


	2. First Meeting

John hated where he lived. It was a single bedsit, with a single sized bed, a sorry stove, and a desk. The loos were all shared by the floor. He was used to sharing the facilities with other people, because of his time in the military, but the accommodations he had previously had were more roomy than his tiny little bedsit. So John spent much of his time walking in the parks of London. 

His therapist was not very good, she thought that he was haunted by the battlefield, but in fact he missed the adrenaline rush that came from being in battle. Living in London doesn’t satisfy his addiction to adrenaline, so instead, about once a week he takes a razor to his arms, and then he patches himself up, the deeper the cuts the better. 

He was on one of his afternoon walks when he heard a sum-what familiar voice call, “John, John Watson,” John turned to see a pudgy man with glasses. 

“Mike, Mike Stamford, we went to Bart’s together,” he told John, John suddenly recalled a gangly twenty year old, oh how Mike had changed. 

“Hello Mike,” John stated, and Mike motioned to a bench. The two of them sat down, and Mike stood up to go get them coffee. When Mike came back with a tall black, no sugar for John and a tall vanilla with three sugars for himself, he asked “So are you still at Bart’s then?” 

Mike nodded, “Teaching now, bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them,” at that remark both of them chuckled. “So are you just staying in town for a bit? Get yourself sorted?”

“I can’t afford London on an army pension,” John replied.

“Ah, but you couldn’t stand to be anywhere else, that’s not the John Watson I know,” Mike stated.

“Yeah well I’m not that John Watson..” John started to retort, but decided against it.

“So can Harry help?” Mike asked.

“Yeah like that would ever happen,” John retorted.

“So why not get a flatshare?” Mike asked.

“Come on, who’d want me for a flat mate?” John asked and he took a long draft of his coffee.

“You know, you are the second person to ask me that today,” Mike stated.

“Who was the first?” John asked, slightly confused. 

“Come on, he is at Bart’s doing a couple of experiments,” Mike responded, and the two of them got a cab and went to Bart’s. Once they got there, they got in an elevator, and went up to the fifth floor, and into the Chem lab, back in med school, that is where they experimented the reactions of certain drugs with particularly common drugs that humans used. 

John looked around, everything was so high tech. “A bit different then it was in my day,” he commented.

“You have no idea,” Mike commented. John looked around, to see a gorgeous, tall, alabaster skinned, black haired human. He was at the microscope. 

“Mike can I borrow your phone, there is no signal on mine?” The tall human asked.

“What’s wrong with the land line?” Mike asked.

“I prefer to text,” the strange human replied. 

“Sorry, it's in my coat,”Mike said, and he made no effort to get it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out mine.

“Here, you can use mine,” I assured the black haired male. He looked questioningly at me, them at Mike.

“Oh, thank you,” he replied, as though he had grown up with manners, but hadn't used them in awhile. He walked up to him, and took the phone gently from John’s hands. The stranger looked him over from head to toe, and suddenly asked, “Afghanistan or Iraq?” I looked at Mike, who just nodded and smirked. 

“Pardon, what did you say?” I responded.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” He repeated.

“Afghanistan. Sorry how could you possibly know..”

A young woman in a lab coat walked into the lab and handed the stranger coffee. “Ah, coffee, thank you Molly. Wait what happened to the lipstick?” he asked her while accepting the cup.

“It wasn’t working for me,” she stated.

“Really, I think it was a big improvement, your mouth is too small now,” the stranger announced, as he walked back to his work station.

“Ok,” Molly muttered and walked out, while nodding to Mike.

The stranger asked me random questions like, if I liked the violin, or how he wouldn’t talk for days on end, and if those things would bother me. I was speechless. He told me that he was looking for a flatmate, and Mike showed up with me. He also told me that he found a flat, and that we would meet there tomorrow at seven. I almost shouted at him, and he could not stop smirking. He told me a small part of my life story, and he put on his Belfast coat, and a blue scarf. He walked out the door, but stuck his head back into the lab.

“My name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker St,” he informed me, and he winked. The god-damned god-like man fucking winked at me. Jesus Christ, if I move in with him, I will have to figure out how to not be turned on by him.

“Yes he is always like that,” Mike stated. This would either be a disaster, or be amazing. That was a fact. 


	3. Not What He Expected

When Sherlock told Mike that he was looking for a flatmate three days ago, he was certainly not expecting Jade Harper Watson. Sherlock thought back, and remembered the first time they met, even though it hadn’t been that long ago.

_*Flashback*_

_Sherlock had just finished in the Morgue when Mike Stanford walked in, leading a beautiful, blond young woman with a cane and a slight limp. Her posture told him that she was a military personal. He took another glance, taking in her stature, physic, and her posture. The woman was short, lean, and obviously packed with muscles._

_She spoke in a low, calm voice, “Bit different from my day.” So she had medical training, she had to be a military doctor._

_“You have no idea,” Mike responded to her._

_“Mike can I borrow your phone? There is no service on mine,” He asked, just to make her notice him. Sherlock knew that Mike had stopped at his office, thus he didn’t have his mobile phone on him._

_“What’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked._

_“I prefer to text,” He answered._

_“Sorry, it’s in my coat,” Mike replied, and settled onto a stool, to watch the interaction that was about to take place._

_“Here, you can use mine,” The woman told Sherlock, and held up her phone._

_“Oh, thank you,” Sherlock told her, as he got up to get her phone. Sherlock’s hand brushed up against her’s, and Sherlock felt an internal shiver._

_“This is an old friend of mine, Dr. Jade Watson,” Mike introduced Jade to Sherlock._

_“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock asked Jade. She smirked._

_“Afghanistan, for a tour, Iraq for two tours, and Sierra Leone for two months, ordered present to past, except for the fact that I was honorably discharged due to injury,” She responded to Sherlock._

_“How do you feel about the violin?” He asked suddenly._

_“I don’t mind the violin, as long as you don’t mind hearing screams, I have a severe case of PTSD that manifests in constant nightmares,” she replied._

_“That is fine, I barely sleep a full night anyway,” Sherlock replied._

_“How are your eating habits?” She asked Sherlock suddenly in Doctor mode._

_“I think eating is dull,” Sherlock replied, she just shook her head. “Are you free to view the flat tonight?”_

_“Yes. Thank you Mike, for introducing us, wait, what is your name, sir?” She asked Sherlock._

_He walked to the door, and opened it for her, “I am Sherlock Holmes, I have to stop by the Morgue to grab my riding crop,” He introduced himself, and held out his hand for her to shake. She smiled and shook his hand, he shook her hand once, and also bent down to kiss her knuckles. She blushed._

Sherlock smiled with that memory, it was one that he filed into the new wing of his mind palace that appeared, labeled Jade H. Watson. Just an hour ago, she had shot the cabbie. 

_*Flashback*_

_You're not bored now, are you?” Hope, the cabbie asked Sherlock, as he brought the pill up to the light, inspecting it, then lowering it to his mouth. Just before he took the pill, there was a gunshot. Sherlock ducked down, and looked up, to see the cabbie fall. A bullet had gone through two glass window panes, a man’s scapula, the internal organs, the flesh, and into the wall. Whoever shot that, that person was a fighter, a crackshot._

_“Who is your sponsor?” Sherlock asked the cabbie, who didn’t want to reveal anything, until Sherlock stepped on his shoulder, aggravating the bullet wound. “THE NAME!”_

_“MORIARTY!” The cabbie screamed, before he passed away, from the blood loss. It looks like the shooter knows a little something about human anatomy._

_The officers cleared both buildings, and they didn’t find anyone. Sherlock was led to an Ambulance, and the medic put an ugly orange blanket, for the shock, apparently. Lestrade came up to him and informed Sherlock that they hadn't found the shooter , and that they had nothing to go on._

_“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Sherlock told the DI._

_“Ok, gimme,” Lestrade responded._

_“The bullet they dug out of the wall came from a handgun, so you aren't just looking for a marksman, his hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so you are looking for a fighter. He didn’t shoot until I was in mortal danger, so he has a strong moral principle,” Sherlock ranted, before locking eyes with Jade, his flatmate. She was a soldier, she had a gun, she was also a doctor, so in order to save his life, she had to kill someone._

_“You know what, ignore that,” Sherlock told Lestrade. The DI looked at him, questioningly. “Ignore what I just said, I’m in shock, and I need to talk about the rent,” and he started to walk over to Jade, transfixed. Somehow, this beautiful female was willing to kill to save his life. Lestrade didn't stop him, and Sherlock ducked underneath the police tape, walked up to Jade, took her hands, and was engulfed by the faint smell of gunpowder, strangely jade, and really strong tea._

_“Good shot,” Sherlock whispered in her ear. She blushed, and grinned up at him. Jade came up to Sherlock’s chest. Jade was about 149 cm tall. “Dinner?” Sherlock asked her._

_“Always,” Jade answered. Jade looped her arm through Sherlock’s arm, his hands were in his pockets._

They had just gotten back to 221b Baker St, home. Jade grinned at Sherlock, and put the kettle on, and she washed her hands. 

“Why are you willing to kill for me?” Sherlock asked Jade. She looked questioningly at Sherlock. 

“Why are you asking me?” Jade asked Sherlock. 

“You killed the cabbie, when you have barely met me,” Sherlock told her. 

“Yes in those few days, even hours, Sherlock Holmes, you have become my family, as crazy as that sounds,” Jade told him, and Jade went around the table, and gently hugged Sherlock. “As much as you think I saved you, you have saved me. If I had to spend one more day, alone, with my cane, and in that bedsit, I would have most likely killed myself,” Jade admitted, shamefully. 

“Why on Earth would you do that?” Sherlock asked Jade, incredulously.

“I thrive on comfort, order, structure, and adrenaline, Sherlock. At the Bedsit that they assign Veterans, who don’t have family to, there is no comfort, my life had no structure, I considered jumping off the building just to feel adrenaline race through my veins again, and with out the army, I felt I had no order in my life,” She admitted. Sherlock went ahead and made Jade her tea, somehow he figured out how she liked it. 

“You won’t have to be alone again,” Sherlock promised. “You have Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and me.” Sherlock pulled her into a long embrace, where Jade just melted into his arms, and sobbed lightly, knowing somehow, that this is what she needed. 


	4. Not What She Expected

Jade was getting really comfortable around Sherlock. In the last 144 hours, she had killed a man, moved into a flat with a near stranger, and almost punched two police officers for insulting Sherlock. Sherlock was simply the most interesting person Jade had the pleasure of meeting. He was tall, with dark ebony curls, piercing blue eyes that stared straight into your soul, and an immaculate sense of style. When out of the house he wore a black suit, and different coloured shirts underneath. Sherlock was effortlessly beautiful, Jade however thought herself to be disgusting. She was short, with dirty blonde hair, that had been sun-kissed blonde by the desert sun, and her eyes were a dull blue-grey. Jade always wore a pair of skinny jeans, her military combat boots, her holster, and a baggy jumper, to cover the holster. 

“Jade, we have a client!” Sherlock called, and Jade instantly was in the kitchen, making a pot of tea, both for her and Sherlock, and for the client. Sometimes clients would be at the flat for hours, explaining every little detail to Sherlock and Jade. Jade took notes, so Sherlock could ask things to her, and she could tell him quickly. She would take notes in shorthand. It took five minutes for the kettle to whistle, and Jade in the meantime, prepped the cream and the sugar. When the kettle whistled, she poured the boiling water into the teapot, which was white ceramic, and she put the tea leaves in the pot as well. 

“Who is this?” the client asked Sherlock. “She looks like a housekeeper.” Sherlock sneered at the client. 

“She is Captain Dr. Jade Watson, and she doesn’t like being talked down to,” Sherlock answered, and Jade smirked. 

“She doesn’t look like she could do much,” the client smirked at Jade. 

“Get out,” Sherlock yelled at the client, who looked affronted. 

“I won’t leave until you hear my case,” the client told Sherlock. Who looked at Jade. Jade was smiling. 

“Don’t worry Sherlock, I will take care of this,”She assured her flatmate. Jade stood up, and pulled the client out of his chair, and dragged him down the stairs. When they got to the door, she threw him out, and slammed the door in his face, locking it behind her. When Jade went back up to the flat, Sherlock had just finished making their tea. Jade grabbed her heating pad from a shelf, plugged it in, and settled it on her shoulder, before she took her tea.

“Thank you, Sherlock, for the tea and for standing up to him,” Jade told Sherlock, as he sat down in his chair. 

“You’re welcome, but I won’t have anyone insult my friend, doctor, and flatmate. You and I are already closer than Mycroft and I,” Sherlock commented. Jade blushed, and smiled at Sherlock. “You are also intelligent, incredibly strong, and able to adapt. I mean how else would you be able to live in the same flat as me?” Sherlock jokes, and made Jade smile. 

“I dealt with much worse in the Army,” Jade smiled at him. Sherlock smiled at her, and they both settled into their chairs with books. Jade was reading  _ Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone _ , which she had never read because she was in medical school when the books first came out, she was at the point that Harry was getting sorted. Sherlock was reading a botany book. The two of them read for two hours. 

They got interrupted by Lestrade, who came running into the flat. “We have a triple locked room murder, will you come?” The DI asked. 

“We will be there soon, we will take a cab,” Sherlock answered. Lestrade nodded and gave Jade the address of the crime scene. Jade and Sherlock got their coats, Jade deciding to wear a tee-shirt and her leather jacket today, cause she could carry her gun legally at a crime scene, thanks to Mycroft. Sherlock put on his Belstaff coat, and his blue scarf. 

“Are you ready, Jade?” Sherlock asked Jade. Jade smiled and nodded. Together the two walked out of the flat, got into a taxi, and they rode together in silence to the next crime scene. 


	5. Life Worth Living

Jade was shopping for some more black, chamomile, and peppermint tea. She was also after milk, chocolate, and some biscuits. When Jade went up to the counter, when she heard a familiar voice, she went up to the front to see her old commanding officer, Major Dr. John Hamish Watson, in the army they were nicknamed ‘The Watson Duo’. 

“John!” Jade exclaimed, and walked calmly over to him. 

“Jade! It is good to see you, I haven’t seen you since we both got shot!” John responded. “Can you help me with the checkout machine?” 

“Yes, you always hated machines, unless it was your gun,” Jade teased John. Back in the Army, John was Jade’s officer and her mentor in Afghanistan. The two of them had spent hours together, tending to wounded soldiers, shooting in the range, and talking about their home lives. 

“So where are you these days?” Jade asked, while she checked John’s groceries out, then checked hers out as well. Jade had stolen Sherlock’s card for groceries, which he knew very well. 

“I just found a flat, and the Landlady is very sweet,” John replied, taking both his and her groceries. 

“Really, what is your address?” Jade asked, grinning. 

“I am renting 221C Baker St. The Landlady, Mrs. Hudson is letting me rent it at a discounted price, because I helped pay for it to be renovated,” John replied, and he called a cab, which Jade joined him in.

“That is a huge coincidence, I live at 221B Baker St,” Jade told John who looked shocked. 

“You play the violin?” John asked. 

“No, my flatmate, Sherlock Holmes does, he offered me a place to live, and since, we have been solving crimes together,” she replied, as they got to 221B Baker St. 

“May I meet your flatmate?” John asked her, in a protective tone. John was about twelve years older than Jade, Sherlock was only two years older than Jade. In actuality, John was like a brother to Jade.

“Yes, of course, I am sure he would be delighted to meet you!” Jade exclaimed, and John went to his flat, and put his groceries away, before he walked up the stairs behind Jade. 

“Sherlock, I’m home, and I brought a visitor,” Jade exclaimed, as she walked into the open door, and started making tea, chamomile for her, peppermint for Sherlock, and black for John. 

“Hello, Mr. Holmes, I am Dr. John Watson,” John greeted Jade’s flatmate, in a formal tone. Sherlock stood up, and shook John’s hand. 

“Any relation to Jade?” Sherlock asked, as he pulled a chair over for John. 

“Not any that we are aware of,” Jade answered, while passing out tea.

“Thanks Jade,” John said, as Sherlock nodded in appreciation. He was still looking at the short blond doctor. John wore jeans, loafers, a jumper, and Sherlock could tell that he was wearing his gun on him. This man was a soldier, through and through. 

“You were shot in your left shoulder, same as Jade, you have a brother who wants you to stay in touch, but you don’t approve of him, because he walked out on his wife, and has a drinking problem, and going to your therapist is not helping your PTSD,” Sherlock deduced of John. 

“Brillant!” John exclaimed. 

“Yes he is brilliant, but he can be a right pain in the arse,” Jade told John. “And Sherlock, you got one thing wrong about John here.” Jade told her flatmate. 

“What did I get wrong?” Sherlock asked. 

“He doesn’t have a brother, he had a sister,” Jade told her flatmate, and she patted his shoulder, when he almost started cussing. 

“It is okay, Sherlock, I know you got both John and my siblings wrong, but you were right that they each had marriage troubles, Sam, my sister is short for Samantha, and is right now, dating Harry, John’s sister,” Jade explained to her flatmate, who looked shocked. 

“Who is a better shot, I can see that both of you have your Browning-L9A1 pistols on your person,” Sherlock pointed out. Jade giggled. 

“Jade is a better shot than me, and that is saying something, cause I was a bloody amazing shot,” John responded and drank some of the tea that Jade had made for him. Sherlock continued to study John, as he as well drank his tea. Jade however settled down with  _ Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets _ , she had finished the first one two nights ago. 

After about an hour of Sherlock talking with John, John excused himself and went to his flat downstairs, extending the offer to pop in at any time. “Well, he and you are very similar,” Sherlock stated to Jade. Jade put down her book, and nodded.

“Yes, John is more like a sibling than my real sibling, he took care of me in Afghanistan, in fact, I wouldn’t have been shot if it hadn't been the fact that the bullet went through both John’s and my shoulders. It was a through and though for John, but I had to dig the bullet out of my shoulder myself,” Jade admitted. 

“Can I see the scar?” Sherlock asked, and Jade nodded, unbuttoning her shirt, and pulling down the strap of her tank top. The scar was red, you could tell where she had to cut herself open to dig it out. Sherlock gently touched it with his cold hands, and Jade gave a sigh of relief. Sherlock looked at her questioningly. 

“Your hand feels nice and cool against my shoulder, I normally rotate cold and warm,” Jade told him. He nodded, and continued to lightly touch her scar.

“You, my dear Watson are a marvel,” Sherlock told her after five minutes. She looked up at him, and looked at him with curiosity in her eyes. 

“You were shot, dug the bullet out, moved back here, resisted the urge to commit suicide, and you put up with me on a daily basis,” Sherlock told her. She just smiled at him.

“You make life worth living,” she admitted to Sherlock who blushed. Slowly, she brushed her lips against his, Sherlock was shocked. No one had ever voluntarily kissed him. Jade pulled back, kinda disappointed, but understanding all the same. “I’m sorry..”

Sherlock had put his hands on her cheeks, and pulled her back in for a kiss before she could finish her apology. She slid her hands into his curls, and lightly tugged him closer. He lightly slid his tongue across her lips, and she opened her mouth, and slipped her tongue into his mouth. After some time spent kissing, Sherlock pulled away, and gasped for air. A small string of saliva linked their two mouths. 

“Wow,”Sherlock stated. Jade smiled at him, and shrugged back on her strap and her shirt. She lightly pecked him once more, and she went to the kitchen, to put their cups in the sink. 


	6. Alternative First Meeting

John was walking in the park, like he did every day, to get used to being a civilian. After his walk, if he was hurting really badly, like he was today, he would take a cab. As always, he had his gun on him, it was the only way that he was relaxed while leaving his tiny bedsit. 

“Taxi!” John yelled, and one pulled up beside him, and the cabbie was a short, fleshy man, with grey driving cap, grey zip up pullover, a blue button up, and jeans. John got into the cab. 

“Where to?” the cabbie asked. 

“128 Main Rd, Sidcup England,” John told the cabbie, and the cabbie started driving in the wrong direction. John stayed quiet, so this was the man that had killed all those people that he read about in this morning’s paper. He dialed 999, and put it on mute. 

“So, you are the one killing everyone?” John asked in a false pleasantly curious tone.

“No, I talked to them, and they killed themselves,” The cabbie replied. John hung up, and just sat in the cab in silence, his hand on his gun. While John was not good with technology, he knew that once he called the police, they could trace his phone, only if it was on. 

The cab pulled up at Roland-Kerr Further Education College, and the cabbie got out. He opened up the door on John’s side, and John just stared at him. “Come on then,” the cabbie told him, while pointing a gun at him. John could tell that it was not a real gun, but he would let the cabbie think that he was just a stupid civilian, that was his mistake. 

Sherlock got a call from Lestrade. “Sherlock, we found the murderer, he has his fifth victim right now. The caller just called and put us on mute, so we could hear the confession. They are at Roland-Kerr Further Education College,” and the DI hung up. Sherlock grabbed his Belstaff coat, and hopped into a cab. 

The cab pulled up to the college, and Sherlock saw a short, blonde haired man. The man was holding a cane, and had a slight bruise in his cheek, and he was rolling his left shoulder. Clearly, the man was military, and had been invalid out of either Afghanistan or Iraq. Sherlock got out and approached the man.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he introduced himself to the man, holding his hand out. The man shook his hand.

“I’m Dr. John Watson,” the man introduced himself. Sherlock looked at the killer. The man had a bullet wound in his leg, and was tied by a belt. The murderer also had bruises covering is arms and neck. 

“How did you subdue him?” Sherlock asked Dr. Watson. The man blushed. 

“I startled him, by shooting him in the leg, and I hit him with my cane, and he put up a fight, so I put him in a headlock, after five seconds, he passed out, and I tied him with my belt. Apparently, for every person he killed, his kids got money. I smelled the pills, I would guess that both are poison, and that he took the antidote before he picked me up in his cab. That was his last mistake, besides underestimating me,” Watson told the Consulting Detective. 

“Brilliant,” Sherlock muttered, and Dr. Watson smiled at him. 


End file.
